


You're Worse Than Nicotine

by anticentristpropaganda



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Angst, Happy Reading, M/M, SO MUCH DAMN ANGST, my emo phase came out in this one sorry, tankie is an asshole, tw emotionally abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticentristpropaganda/pseuds/anticentristpropaganda
Summary: Post-Left just can't quit Tankie. No matter how hard qui tried, Tankie is the drug in quis system. Inspired by Nicotine by Panic! At The Disco, each chapter is a lyric from the bridge
Relationships: Post-Left/Tankie, leftist unity - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	1. just one more hit and then we're through

Post-Left took a long drag from quis cigarette, staring blankly at the greyscale world that laid out before quim. Quis feet tapped against the polished concrete floor, echoing off the walls of the porch. Qui noticed a faint red sort of visual hum before a red figure emerged out of the corner.

Tankie.

"Ah look, it is Anar- I mean Post-Left," smirked Tankie, purposefully using quis old pet name. The name Anarkitty had purred out of Tankie's mouth so many times, qui had a hard time damming up the flow of memories flooding into quis mind.

"You're the one who wanted to meet," qui said cooly, holding onto the facade qui performed with a long black trenchcoat, reflective sunglasses, quis cigarette.

Tankie was chipping away at Post-Left's emotional wall. It was what he was perfect at. Breaking people to snapping point. After someone mistreats you for so long, so many times, you snap. You break. Post-Left was an old, stretched rubber band, waiting to snap and break.

"I thought you might want to see me. Because I know you can't say no," Tankie whispered. His face was an inch away from Post-Left's. 

Post-Left blew smoke in his face. "I can tell you whatever the fuck I want," qui asserted, gritting quis teeth.

"Ah, if only it were that simple, kitty," smirked Tankie. He wrapped his arm around quis waist, pulling quim closer. 

Post-Left spat out quis cigarette, regretfully leaning into Tankie's touch.

"Just one more time. Then I'm done with you." qui mumbled. 

"What was that, Anarkitty?" spat Tankie. 

"Don't make me say it again." Qui was full of shame. How could qui want this? After the years of abuse? After all that qui had lost?

Post-Left had put up with so much shit during the centricide. Tankie was a hard drug. He felt so good, quis pulse was already quickening. Quis arms twitching. But after qui came down from this steep high, qui felt horrible. Guilt, pain, all of it. The only way for quim to solve this short-term was to take another hit.

"Say it."

Qui stepped back. "You know what? I don't fucking need this. I never will. You killed me, Tankie. Look what I've fucking become," qui yelled. Tears formed in quis eyes, dumping over the edges of quis cheeks and chin. 

"Oh, but you do. You do need me. You can walk away now, but you'll come back again. Just like you always have." Tankie used quis frozen stance as the opportunity to make a move. He grabbed Post-Left's wrists and kissed quim, hard. Post-Left pushed him away, staring into his eyes. How bad could this be? And worse, Tankie was right. Qui would always come back.

Qui met Tankie's lips again, feeling a deep pang inside of quim. Warm but sickly, like candy that's far too sweet. This felt good now, qui thought. His mouth was warm and his touch was electric. But this was just another hit, another swig, another drag off of this miserable cigarette.

Qui could quit, qui thought.

Or, qui could die.

Just one more hit, qui thought. One more hit.


	2. cause you could never love me back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tankie is cheating on post left. and how does this happen when tankie is the one who wanted to get back with post left? quis not sure.

Post-Left woke up in a bed qui knew better than quis own. Red cotton sheets and just the one pillow. Qui looked around for Tankie, the owner of the bed. 

Tankie was sitting on a chair in his room, unaware Post-Left was awake. He had messily thrown on a pair of boxers and slippers, his hair undone and haphazard. 

"Good morning," smiled Post-Left in quis raspy morning voice. Qui leaped out of bed to greet him, wrapping an arm around his back.

"Oh, hey," Tankie said flatly. He scruffed up quis hair a bit, smiling at quim.  
"I have to make a phone call real quick babe. I'll be back in a second."

Wow, was Tankie capable of not being an ass? Post-Left thought. It made quim regret saying this was their last time. 

Post-Left pulled quimself out of quis thoughts to listen in on Tankie's call.

"Hey, babe," whispered Tankie as he picked up the phone.

What the fuck? thought Post-Left. Qui pressed his ear up against the wall, listening more intently.

"Listen, uh, now's not a good time sweetie. I have some business to attend to. But, I'll see you this afternoon!" Tankie sing-songed the last bit. There was some chatter from the phone, then "Love you! Bye,".

Post-Left couldn't fucking handle this. The instant qui thinks Tankie is gonna treat quim right, qui's not even the only one on his mind.

Qui packed quis shit, which were just quis favorite hoodie and toothbrush. Tears were streaming down quis face, and quis teeth were gritted. It was so stupid to be jealous right now, but qui couldn't help it. Qui passed Tankie out in the hall.

"Anarkiddy, vhere are you going?" he asked nervously. He could tell Anarkiddy had overheard his conversation with his boyfriend.

Qui gave him the middle finger, meeting his eyes. Post-Left would consider quimself an impulsive person, but this wasn't just quim acting on impulse. This was a long time coming.

"As far away as I can get from you." qui grumbled. Post-Left slammed the door, knocking a vase off of Tankie's bedside table. 

Qui hastily pulled a cigarette out of quis pocket, fumbling with the lighter. Qui spotted a bus, frantically waving quis arms for it to stop.

The coldness of the window against quis cheek, the burning heat of the cigarette, and the stiffness of the bench beneath quim made Post-Left feel out of place. Qui blew smoke out onto the street out the window. Normally qui was a compassionate, understanding person, but today qui wanted others to feel quis pain, to breathe in the smoke qui gave them. Because qui was dealing with some feelings that weren't reciprocated either. Tankie. 

It was almost funny, if you think about it. Post-Left had been in this situation more times than qui could count on quis fingers. Leaving Tankie's place, feeling horrible with all of the love, anger, and pure want that qui had. That Tankie couldn't give back. That no matter how hard qui tried, Tankie could never love quim back. Tankie was a hard habit to break too, because his indifference to Post-Left made it easy for quim to think quis feelings were reciprocated. But that's just how Tankie felt. Indifferent.

Post-Left hopped off the bus, giving the entire world side-eye. 

When someone is your entire world, how can you help but not give the entire world what they give you back?


	3. cut every tie i have to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-left clears quis apartment of every memory qui has of tankie. if this fanfic were a sitcom this would be the flashback episode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw abuse
> 
> also im going to kill the dumbass intern at ao3 who made it impossible to format ur stories ALL I WANTED WAS TO DO ITALICS BUT APPARENTLY THAT WAS TOO MUCH TO ASK

Post-Left stumbled in through the doorway of quis apartment, throwing quis backpack to the floor. Qui always felt the best way to quit something was to rid of every trace you had of it around you. Because qui knew what it was like, the nagging of quis anxiety, reminding quim of the highs of quis addiction but never the lows.

Hands worked around countertops, drawers, tables, etc. to locate all evidence of Tankie from Post-Left's residence. Pictures, trinkets, his hoodies, even his ushanka all lived with quim. Qui gave quimself the chance to look at every item before hastily stuffing it in the trash.

A polaroid of them, posing by a building they decorated with grafitti (mostly the work of Post-Left) where they had their first kiss.

_After Ancom had finished quis last hammer and sickle, qui stopped for a moment to apprecia_ te the _glimmer of the red spraypaint, softened by the pinkish glow of the sky._

_"Come ze fuck on!" giggled Tankie. He knew well enough someone would be after them soon._

_"Okay!" Ancom and Tankie sprinted away to their hideout spot, the rooftop of an abandoned office building. Tankie pulled out a flask and passed it to Ancom._

_"You are making me come around to this whole graffiti thing, Ancom."_

_That's who qui was back then._

_"I do really appreciate you." he finished. Ancom's heart skipped a beat. "I appreciate you too, Tankie." Tankie noticed Ancom's flushed face and twitchy hands. He took quis hand in his, waiting for some kind of negative response. Instead, he got Ancom's mouth on his. Tankie wrapped his arm around Ancom without breaking the kiss, noting "I didn't know you appreciated me this much." he lightly chuckled_.

Post-Left threw the photo in the bag, nostalgia overcoming quim. Qui reminded quimself, "that Tankie you knew then is dead. Remember all the times he treated you badly, you fucking moron? The black eyes? The tears?" Post-Left regained quis strength and kept going. Qui found another artifact to destroy, a hammer and sickle pin Tankie gave quem.

_Ancom woke up in Tankie's bed, in the clothes qui was wearing the day before. Qui touched quis chest and felt a small bump, something that wasn't there before. A golden pin, with a red ruby hammer and sickle pin set into it. Qui rushed out to the kitchen where Tankie was making breakfast._

_"Hey, thanks for the pin," qui exclaimed, giving Tankie a peck on the cheek. Tankie hummed, "You're welcome, Китти." he smiled. "I thought you might like it."_

Post-Left rubbed quis fingers over the smooth gold, then the rigid ruby. Qui stuffed it in quis pocket, hoping to pawn it later. After combing the entire apartment, qui stumbled upon the last item qui had. A tiny bottle of vodka, couldn't be more than two ounces. It was glass, with a red label that qui didn't recognize. The worst memory qui had of Tankie, looming over quim like a dark raincloud.

_Ancom snuck into the Centricide home late at night, drunkenly fumbling with the keyhole. Qui, however, wasn't nearly as drunk as Tankie, who qui found half-asleep in_ _the living room._

_"Hey, Tankie," Ancom mumbled, approaching Tankie. Tankie was on the couch, smoking in front of the TV. Qui ran quis hand through his hair, trying to draw a response from Tankie._

_"Get the fuck away," asserted Tankie unexpectedly. Ancom leaned back, surprised by Tankie's spoiled mood._ _Before qui knew it, Tankie's fist met quis eye, sending quim to the carpeted floor. Ancom stumbled up to quis room, crying. Tankie was easy to upset when he was drunk, but he had never hit Ancom._

_The next morning, Ancom found a small bottle of vodka on the living room table._ _Ancom shoved it in quis pocket, thinking qui wanted to remember this moment. Because qui couldn't possibly be in a_ _relationship with someone who hit, abused quim. Right?_

Post-Left shoved the small bottle into the bag, completing quis routine cleansing of Tankie memories. Qui walked out to the dumpster, throwing the bag away without a second thought. Just when qui thought qui had some kind of peace, qui heard a knock at the door. Great. Qui tossed the door to quis right, not caring of pleasing whoever was standing in the doorframe.

Until qui realized who it was. Tall, with these beautiful brown curls that stood up on his head. A shit-eating grin, with dimples deep and stretched. Fancy dress shoes, framing his suit, and an outstretched hand.

"Ancap." qui said in wonder, eyebrows raised.

"I've just come to collect your rent check. Ancapistan isn't cheap to run, you know."

"I was thinking about that. You know, maybe if we had a good old exchange of goods and services a rent check wouldn't be necessary.

"What are you referring to?" inquired Ancap suspiciously. "I just broke up with Tankie. For good." Qui hesitated.

"I need a rebound."


	4. cause your love's a fucking drag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6 months later, everyone's favorite communists meet again

6 months later

Music pulsated throughout a crowded nightclub, which boasted a large neon sign in front reading "The Why". It wasn't really Post-Left's scene, but hey, qui was having fun with Ancap. They danced against each other, the pulsing bass keeping the rhythm.

Ancap took Post-Left's hand, pulling quim closer. Qui was happy, at least somewhat. Qui had a nice boyfriend, got out of quis bad relationship, and had overall become more self-reliant. So why was there a growing emptiness inside of quim?

Post-Left ignored it, smiling against quis boyfriend's soft lips. 

"Baby?" qui shouted over the blaring music.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna go grab a breath of fresh air. It's a little cramped in here." qui pulled away, squeezing Ancap's hands in quis release. 

Post-Left wormed quis way through the crowd, glancing at all of the happy people. Shit, qui hadn't felt like qui shared anything in common with these people in a long time. Qui used to be addicted to Tankie. The source of all this shit. The depression, the addiction, the nightmares. Now qui was free, and qui could see quimself on the faces of all of the young, happy people dancing around quim.

Qui squeezed through the front doors, feeling the warm buzz of nighttime tickle quim. 

Post-Left stopped in quis tracks.

Oh shit. Oh holy fucking shit, qui thought.

Who better to show up on a day where qui was happy than Tankie.

He was lean. Broad shoulders that framed a bony face, soft skin stretched across his features. He should exude confidence, being the fucking handsome devil he is. 6'6 and all. But he looked like complete shit, the shell of a man mourning.

"P-Post-Left!" he yelled excitedly. "I'm so glad you're here! It's been like hell since you were gone-"

"Save your shit, Tankie."

"Vhat?"

"I really don't give two shits about how you've been doing." 

The two men stood closer. Even though Post-Left was much shorter than Tankie, even the few people on the street observing could see qui was in charge here.

"But kitty, I'm different now!" he yelled defensively. "Give me a second chance," he pleaded, with big puppy eyes.

"Hmmmmmmmmmm... No." Post-Left said flatly, without regret. 

They started walking together, away from the nightclub.

"Uh, smoke?" asked Tankie hopefully. He held out a cigarette. 

"No, I don't do that shit anymore."

"Anarkitty, please. Tell me why you von't come back to me." He spoke with his hands, persuasive and pleading.

Post-Left dug through quis brain. The physical and emotional abuse, the addictions, the deep depression. But this wasn't really relevant anymore, Tankie knew he caused all of this.

"Cause your love's a fucking drag, Tankie." qui emphasized.

Despite Tankie's attempts to still get quim back, Post-Left turned around and raced toward the nightclub. Qui spotted Ancap from across the club, locking eyes.

"Feel better?" Ancap smiled, slinking his arm around Post-Left.

"Better."


End file.
